


A (Not So) Funny Thing

by Abby_Ebon



Series: It's The End of the World [2]
Category: Zombieland (2009)
Genre: M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Viagra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This prompt (Somebody slips Columbus Viagra as a joke. Tallahassee suffers the consequences.) is to blame and zombieland_kink is taking over my writing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A (Not So) Funny Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Also called "Sex Me NOW, Please!"...lolz.

It was, Columbus thinks, a joke. Or at least it started out that way, if he recalls that memory that maybe-started it all, he can still see Wichita's grinning face as she passed him his share of their evening food. It was supper, or so much as one can claim that sort of thing when there are only two meals in a day, as breakfast is a must if you're going to be seeing zombies before dinner. Little Rock and Wichita were on one side of the house, he and Tallahassee had bedded down on the other. Columbus can think of reasons, any number of reasons –almost uncountable many - that Wichita had done it, ranging from "she's crazy confusing!" to "maybe it was to get back at me for that kiss?"…none of that helps him now.

Columbus bites down on his bottom lip, stifling the urge to whimper, because Tallahassee is only _just across the room_ , and won't be pleased in the least to have his sleep disturbed. Columbus feels hot all over, and his skin is shivering under the slick sweat that covers him from his hair to his toe nails.

He's never felt this way before, not ever, and he wishes it would just _go away_. He thought he might be sick, until his cock had twitched and he'd had to stifle the soft little moan that had wanted to come out at the thought of Wichita straddling his hips in a white nurse's skirt. Columbus shifts so that he's turned to his side (away from Tallahassee) and he can't believe he's doing this, and he vows not to make a sound – but he wiggles his boxers and pj bottoms (yes, he wares pajamas, you never know what might try to bite you while you sleep in a zombie-infested world) down past his hips, because while he could just fumble with the flaps, his fingers are trembling and achy with the heavy sureness of what he is doing, and it is just easier to be sure of getting his clothes out of the way _this way_ –rather then risk cloth slowing him down.

His breath catches – because he can't be gasping for it, not yet – as his warm palm meets the length and seems to burn with urgency all the more fierce, just from that one little touch. His fingers wrap around and squeeze and he almost cries out, and he feels so frustrated and needy he would not be surprised if his eyes were damp. He can't touch himself without it getting worse and him wanting _more of everything_ , but he can't do it all on his own - and Columbus resolves to do this quickly. To just get it over with, so he can sleep and not wake Tallahassee who might just kill him – or _worse_ – for doing this in the same room where Tallahassee is sleeping. He's never been one for sex (mostly because, yes, he still is a virgin), or self gratification, because it's messy and lonely. Yet he can't help it as he touches himself under the sleeping bag, not quite sure how to do it, but knowing he _has_ to do it, and it's like he has no choice and his body is making him do this to himself all on it's own – and there is some shame in that, because who would admit to being so weak as to blame their sexual needs on their body?

Columbus licks his lips in the midst of his effort, pulling and tugging and needing more and wanting less, and when he comes he bites his bottom lip and muffles the sound in his arm – he's there, on the edge and waiting to fall but he's smart enough to try and not make a sound, because Tallahassee is a light sleeper but _can not_ hear him ….

"Kid…? Hey …hey – Columbus, you alright…?" Tallahassee mumbles, sounding half asleep, but –as Columbus knows from previous experience - really awake and aware, just like that. Columbus presses his lips together so he can't make a muffled squeak of mortification or of thwarted temptation. He waits to answer, to get his voice and feelings under control – and just maybe Tallahassee will think he's woken up Columbus and not the other way around, because Tallahassee is already moving around and checking the room for anything, just in case.

"F-fine…" It sounds weak and wobbly, like he was crying (well, that fits, because he _wants_ to cry) not a bedroom voice at all – and Columbus is both mortified and grateful for this. He doesn't want to clue Tallahassee into the fact that he's trying to _do things_ , yet at the same time if Tallahassee thinks he's having an emotional girl-moment, well, maybe Tallahassee will just leave Columbus alone…and…and maybe go sleep on the couch. Columbus finds out too late that he makes a little keening in the back of throat at that thought, because he doesn't like to be left alone – not even while dealing with his body's issues - and Tallahassee is one of the only people left in the world that he knows and trusts.

"Don't sound so fine to me. Can't sleep? What is it, nightmare? Best to tell me and just get it out that way I can go back to sleep sometime tonight." Tallahassee moves closer, and Columbus peers up at him, his skin still shivering and tingling with the pressing need, and Tallahassee looks at him and doesn't like what he sees, frowning and shuffling in for a closer look. Columbus wonders only then if he is sweating or fevered looking, and maybe this really is a sickness and not a trick at all?

Tallahassee reaches out to touch his forehead, his hand cool and firm – soothing – against the heat and need swimming in Columbus's blood. In that moment Columbus isn't as careful as he should be and let's out a little sigh, his breath hitching at the end of it as he realizes what he's done. He looks up wide eyed at Tallahassee waiting to be smacked or hit or turned away, because surely Tallahassee can't think that _that_ would be a sign of sickness?

Columbus is just a little surprised when those fingers run though his hair, along his cheek, and he shudders and tries not to whimper, or whisper _please_. Columbus is very aware of how exposed he is, with his cock twitching under the sleeping bag, his pajamas at his thighs - and Tallahassee just sitting there and staring at him with an odd look in his eye – it's worried and pitying. He almost thinks that Tallahassee has it all figured out, when he leans in closer, voice soft as if Tallahassee doesn't want him getting upset.

"You sick?" Tallahassee asks, and there is hopeless sort of helplessness - but no, because Tallahassee is never _helpless_ , that is Columbus all the time - in his voice, because this is Zombieland (as if Columbus could forget…) and getting sick means weakness and weakness, well, that means Columbus might die all the sooner for it. Not that he had thought to survive this…. Columbus hadn't thought until then that Tallahassee might miss him if he died; he had in fact mostly convinced himself that this comradeship and almost-friendship and almost-family thing was all in his head.

"N-no, go away. I'll sleep it off." Columbus says, dizzy with the need and want and _yes, please touch me_ swimming and swirling though his head. Tallahassee though, is stubborn, and some part of him must think of Columbus as one of his own, and Tallahassee is possessive and protective of those that are _his_.

With a hand still on his head so Columbus is too distracted to suspect what might be going through Tallahassee's mind, his other hand yanks down the sleeping bag in a hasty movement that leaves all of Columbus's secrets exposed. Tallahassee looks at his trembling belly and shivering thighs and twitching cock, and he gets this look on his face – and it isn't disgust, and Tallahassee meet's his eye though Columbus tries to turn his face (but Tallahassee is still touching his face) into the pillow and hopefully suffocate himself in record time, the feverish flush is very obviously becoming blushing lust and embarrassment.

"Something you want to tell me?" Tallahassee is gruff but he doesn't make a move to go away or pummel Columbus into the dirt of the floor.

"I…I think Wichita slipped me something, I…I'm sorry…. _please_ , just, it isn't personal – just go away and forget it….?" Columbus is very aware that he might just lose the one person he considers a sort-of best friend, and he tries to bridge this – tries to make it right. Tallahassee's finger trails over his lips and Columbus gasps and shivers and he's _so hard_ and he _needs this_ – he forgets who's touching him, closes his eyes and feels it – feels how much better it is to not be the only one touching himself. How much easier it is to just let someone else do it to him, and give over that little bit of control to sooth the burning need, the craving…

"What if I don't want to go away, Columbus? What if I don't want to forget?….what if I want this too, what if I want you, and I want you to remember….?" Husky and deep, Tallahassee has a much better bedroom voice then anything that Columbus could mimic. It just fits and he can't help but thrust his hips, and when Tallahassee moves his hand between them, pulls down his bottom bedroom clothes till they are jerked off completely, it just seems natural to let Tallahassee have his way when he touches and teases his thighs and moves lower and up and scrapes a bitten nail roughly against Columbus's entrance.

It's the only hint to what Tallahassee might have in mind, and things and thoughts race though Columbus's mind, he's never done this – but Columbus always sort of expected he might prefer both sexes, so he knows only the basics, that he'll need lube to ease Tallahassee's way into him – that it might burn, but the prostate is there too, and there will be the feeling of fullness and weight, and that he'll need lots and lots of prepping (fingering, he thinks they used to call it) or he might rip something then bleed out and die – and in a world of _zombies_ and no medical treatment, wouldn't it just be his fucking luck ( _fucking_ …Columbus tries not to giggle, because he thinks that's what Tallahassee wants…) to die of ass sex.

"What if this is what I want, huh?" Columbus cries out, as that finger presses and trails down his crease, teasing – Tallahassee was _teasing_ him. He was going to die trying not to let go of that ledge he's hanging onto with only his fingertips (when, only a while ago he had been trying with equal fever to let go) so he won't find release and Tallahassee won't be…be _disappointed_ with him?

Columbus can't help it when his hips thrust upward and he loses his mind, slipping though time, so full and rushing to nothing, overflowing, and wetness is on his belly and Tallahassee is coating his fingers on it (is he going to _lick_ them? Columbus doesn't know and can't help but want to see it…) and using Columbus's own semen on Tallahassee's slick fingers to massage his way into the passage Tallahassee seems fully intent to possess. Columbus doesn't mind this touching, soaking up the afterglow, but when pleasure shivers under his skin and tightens his belly and makes his breath catch, he can't help but think – somewhat exasperated – _again, really_?

It's the last thing that Columbus can think for a while as Tallahassee touches him with a consuming single-minded intensity that he can barely breath around, yet Columbus knows – _knows and trusts_ – that if he wanted Tallahassee to stop, all he would have to do would be _ask_ , and Tallahassee would, no questions asked – and that blows Columbus away and gives him the control he needs to stay calm and just let Tallahassee do what he likes to him, and enjoy every minute of it.

Columbus is aware that he _wants_ this, when Tallahassee goes between his legs, lifts them up, and presses the blunt head of his cock against Columbus, and Columbus wants only to say _more, please, Tallahassee – more, I want it, want you – please_ , and maybe he does, or Tallahassee is physic because certainly some sort of message gets across. Tallahassee takes him, and there is for Columbus to feel is the burn and the fullness and under and over it all is the need and craving and, till Columbus can't tell what is what and what is wrapped around or over what feeling and all there is, is Tallahassee and what Tallahassee is doing to his body.

"God…" Tallahassee says, and there is praise and awe and fear there, and Columbus doesn't quite realize that Tallahassee is referring to him; to the feelings they share – that Tallahassee can feel because of him, _because of Columbus_ – until Tallahassee is thrusting in and Columbus is there, right there on the ledge and the drop into overfilling nothing, and he cries out and comes when Tallahassee thrusts in only once and he's gone, but thinks – drowsy and tired but not quite satisfied, _is he going to stop?_

Tallahassee doesn't, he in fact thrusts into Columbus so many times that Columbus can't count and loses track how many times become too much and not enough and he's still hard and when Tallahassee grips his hips like he's trying to bruise him (mark him, claim him, because Tallahassee is his and he is Tallahassee's) Columbus _knows_ that Tallahassee has found that same ledge that Columbus has climbed and fell off of so many times he's dizzy and can't think past the pleasure but craves more all the same – when Tallahassee jumps off, Columbus is right there with him – and that seems more right and honest and true then anything that Columbus has ever said or known.

For a while that is enough, and Columbus sleeps, his belly and ass sticky and wet, curled and cuddled with Tallahassee, in his half-sleep half-waking, he thrusts against Tallahassee like a dog in heat and Tallahassee is awake because he's a light sleeper, and when Columbus wakes up halfway because of the craving and need crawling up is spine and under his skin, Tallahassee is watching him with a half grin.

"Again..?" He asks, and Columbus whimpers with his need, and hopes and despairs of this need and craving ever going away.

Its eight hours later (only five of that spent sleeping) when they come down for breakfast, Wichita has the plates set out, even though it's past noon. Tallahassee tilts his head at her, looking down at Columbus's food, as he asks what Columbus is too shy to say.

"So, how long does that Viagra last?" Wichita flushes, but shakes her head.

"Only four hours, why…?" Tallahassee let's out a bark of laughter, and won't say why he asked – Columbus never answers because he knows that it wasn't the Viagra at all, it was him, and if he ever says anything, Tallahassee might fulfill that threat of telling the girls he's a "sex kitten" – Columbus might want to see their faces, a little - but he'd rather not have to deal with him thinking about them thinking about Tallahassee in the sack – because Tallahassee is _his_.


End file.
